


New Rulers, New Rules

by waywardwandering



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Cousin Incest, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Male Homosexuality, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardwandering/pseuds/waywardwandering
Summary: Post-season 8 finale. Spoilers for the finale, obviously. What comes next for the Queen in the North and the King beyond the wall. Or how Sansa and Jon cope with what happen and move forward.





	1. Northward

They made the journey to the north together, after leaving King’s Landing separately to appease the Unsullied. Jon met up with her on the Kings Road, and they travelled north with the northmen who had stayed in King’s Landing long enough to see all decisions made. It was a small company, but made up of good fighting men, and with peace tentatively laid down, Sansa wasn’t too worried about running into trouble on the roads. She couldn’t relax exactly, but she could ride ahead and finally try and get a few relatively private conversations in with Jon, if he was in the talking mood.

He wasn’t though, these days. She would have thought the time spent as a prisoner in King’s Landing would have given him enough time to think through everything, but either it hadn’t or he didn’t really want to talk to her. She felt very tentative around him, afraid to anger him, afraid he was angry with her for her role in all that happened. She felt guilt too, for the way things had transpired, a guilt that laden on top of all the other emotions of the past ten years, was oftentimes too much to think about. So she hedged around it in her own brain, determined to keep composure every day in the company of the northerners, for she was to be their new Queen and she needed to be queenly. No man would respect a queen who wept in front of them. So she didn’t. She rode ahead, with her cousin who wouldn’t look at her or even speak to her for weeks, and she kept a straight back and dry eyes.

Finally, after they finally reached the Neck, she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she was sick of doing this on her own, and one night she set off to Jon’s tent determined to speak with him. She strode straight into his tent without pausing for fear of losing her nerve, and she encountered a startled shirtless Jon. Sansa, still determined, refused to turn around, so kept her eyes fixed on his eyes, no lower, and internally cursed the color creeping up her neck.

“Sansa, what are you doing?” Jon asked her while frantically putting on the shirt he had held in his hands. She was pleased that at least he was more flustered than her.

“Oh so you haven’t lost your tongue. I was beginning to wonder.” She spat out at him, going against all that she had rehearsed to say. She couldn’t help the anger she felt rising.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me!” Jon exclaimed from underneath the shirt he was tugging over his head.

“And why wouldn’t I? We went through so much Jon, and you’re the only one I can talk to about it now, and you won’t even look at me. I’m sorry Jon, for spilling your secret, I’m so, so, sorry.” She said passionately, her emotions rising, tears of anger and frustration traitorously gathering in her eyes.

“I’m not angry with you Sansa, I’m the one who should apologize.” he said quietly, stepping forward. He looked as if he wanted to comfort her, but didn’t quite know how. He settled for a hand on her arm. She felt his touch like a hot iron, and looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. 

“I’m the one who caused all of this, I know I am, Tyrion told me what happened with her. I should never have said anything to him. Then maybe everyone would still be alive, those hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women, and children would still be alive. How can I be a queen to anyone after what I’ve done?” Sansa abruptly sat down on a chair, and buried her face in her hands.

“Sansa, we all had a part to play in this, I know, but you cannot blame yourself, you did what you thought was right. I thought about this a lot, how everything happened, what I could have done differently, what Daenerys could have done differently, what everyone could have done differently, and it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Bran said this was the best possible scenario, but I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know what to believe. I do know, that of the people left in this world, I feel the most to blame. I wish I could have been a better liar, I wish I could have stopped her.” Jon kneeled down in front of her, his breath coming roughly, his eyes full of sadness and anger. He again looked like he wanted to comfort her, but the hand he went to put on her knee, he pulled back it before he touched her.

“What do you mean? You haven’t told me your side of what happened. I heard Tyrion’s but I know you and her were --”, she paused looking at him, “close.” 

“I don’t know that I want to talk about it.” He said softly, looking down.

“Please, Jon, I can’t keep this to myself anymore, it’s killing me, I have to move past it. I know you loved her, I know how hard this must be for you.” Sansa felt the familiar pain of thinking of Jon loving Daenerys, the outsider, the one who wanted to burn down Sansa, her family, and the world.

“I didn't, Sansa. I tried, but I didn’t” Jon said bitterly, tears welling up in his eyes, despair spreading over his face. “That’s what I mean, I couldn’t convince her that I did, had I been able to, I might have saved them all.” 

“I thought you loved her. I thought I understood why you would abandon your family for her, because you loved her and you were being a stupid idiot in love. If you didn’t love her, then why? How could you, why did you do it?” She stood up again, anger overtaking her.

“For you.” Jon said simply, looking into her eyes, and Sansa felt her chest constrict a little and then after a pause, he looked down and said. “And Arya, and Bran and the North. I thought at first that maybe she wasn’t so bad, I could be honest with her, that I would never bend the knee, that the North would never bend the knee again. I thought she was good, and that maybe with time I could actually love her, it’d make things so much easier. So I tried really hard to convince myself that I did, when I still didn’t know her true nature. Maybe I did love her a little, I don’t know, I tried so hard to, maybe it worked. But eventually, I knew I didn’t, I saw what she was after she found about who I really am, and even though I didn’t want to believe what she was, deep down I think I really knew. Oh I tried to lie to her, and tell her I loved her when she thought the world was against her, but she knew the truth. And they paid the price, all of these innocents paid the price, for my failures.” 

Sansa shook her head violently through her tears. “You didn’t kill them, she did. Jon you tried, and I ruined it by telling Tyrion about who you really are.” 

Sansa heard Jon sigh, and she felt his arms around her as she cried into his shoulder. She sobbed violently, and not prettily. She felt a little ashamed to let him see her this way, and that thought finally stilled her chest, and she was able to breathe a little more normally. She noticed then, how warm and strong his arms were around her, and she hastily moved away from him, hiding half her face behind her arm as she used her sleeves to dry it.

Some look that she couldn't place flashed across his eyes for a second, but then it was gone, and he smiled a little, sadly. “Sansa, I don’t think we’re ever going to feel okay about what happened, but I think the thing we have to do is move forward and try and do better. That, and hope Bran will actually be a good ruler, and that this truly was the only way. At least, this is what I’ve told myself over the past month.”

Sansa nodded, and said “Maybe that’s all we can do. Try our best to ever prevent this from happening again.” She paused and looked at Jon in silence, and then said, “Thank you, you know, for talking to me.”

“We can talk whenever you'd like. Any questions you have Sansa, I’ll always be there. For anything you need. I know I’m to be exiled to the North, but if you ever need me, know I’ll be there.” 

“I know Jon.” She smiled sadly. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Aye, but I should.” He said, looking sad and determined.

Sansa turned to go but Jon said suddenly, “Wait, Sansa. I know we were never close growing up. I know we never really talked or anything, and I don’t know that you ever considered me a brother. But, we are family, we are cousins. And I’ll do anything I can for you.”

“And I for you, Jon.” She smiled again, sadly, her eyes still red and puffy, her cheeks still damp with tears and turned to go. “Good night.”

It was a couple more weeks before they made it back to Winterfell, and things fell into an easier rhythm, comparatively speaking. Things between Sansa and Jon seemed a little bit comfortable, at least they sometimes spoke, and the silence gave time for Sansa to work through some her feelings on the topic. The others they traveled with seemed almost as exhausted as they were, and few talked to her outside of asking when she wished to stop, what she would like to eat, etc. 

She still didn’t really understand her and Jon’s relationship. The most time they had ever spent together had been to take back Winterfell from the Boltons, and even then they hadn’t ever really talked as true individuals, simply as the Stark children taking back their home. Her anger and grief then had consumed her, and she had kept going because she had to, because the other choice was to give up and to give in, and she refused. Growing up as children, she spent more time with her mother who hated Jon, and knitting inside fantasizing about meeting a prince. When she was growing up she had been stupid, and had never paid any attention to Jon. Jon had grown up on the outskirts of her family, learning to fight and hanging out with Arya and Robb. While she’d always thought of him as family, she never really thought of him as her brother, despite what Arya had always called him. It had made a great deal of sense to her when she found at that he was her cousin, but it also kind of changed things. She no longer had to try and fit him in the brother mold in her brain, but instead cousin, more distant relative. 

She felt herself watching him often, and occasionally he’d notice, and give her a nod, or even a shadow of a smile. She found it easier to remember how to smile when facing this road with Jon by her side. The thought of him leaving soon loomed continually large in her mind. She’d be alone, again, in Winterfell. Sure Bran and Arya were alive, but they were nowhere near by. It’d be up to her and only her to rule the north. The panic often threatened to overcome her, but she shoved in back down, in the way she had lots of practice doing. She wore the armor that she'd spent the last few years perfecting, the one that served her as well as any knight's armor. The crown she wore served to remind her of the purpose of all she'd done, all that she had yet to do. She'd turn everything they had gone through into prosperity for the north, or die trying. 


	2. Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets coronated, and Jon leaves for the Wall.

Jon stood in the back of the hall where Sansa’s coronation was to be held in Winterfell. He wore all black, like a good member of the Night’s Watch that he was supposed to be, and stood in the corner, trying to not bring attention to himself, he didn’t want anything to distract from Sansa’s day. As he waited for the coronation to begin, his thoughts wandered back to the past few months. Sansa had asked him a couple of weeks ago to forgive her, and truthfully it had taken time for him to get there, but by the time she had asked him he already had. She had complicated things for him, recently. His own brain didn’t know how to think about her, how to approach this new Sansa. When they were children, he essentially paid her no mind, as they never really interacted, thanks in large part to her mother who hated him. Ever since she came to him at the Night’s Watch though, it was different. She made it difficult to think clearly when she was around him and she constantly challenged him and his decisions along the way, but he wasn’t mad at her for that.  
  
He had been furious with her when he found out that she had told Tyrion. He swore her to secrecy and she broke it like it meant nothing to her. When he had been sitting trapped in his cell in King’s Landing he, in his heartbreak and rage, had been so angry with her and with the world. He realized now that he had loved Daenerys at some point, at least the idea of her, a beautiful, rightful ruler who would bring peace and prosperity to the world. If only it had been possible. He’d come to terms with his feelings, and what they’d led him to do in the beginning, but he knew that what he’d done in the end had been right, for his family and all the other families in the world that would have faced her wrath.  
  
When he heard Sansa first demanding the Unsullied to let her see him, then screaming at them, then begging them, he didn’t know what he would say to her if they ever let her in. However, he found his anger at her slipping away, because he knew deep down that she would never betray him if not for the good of her people, and their family. He had thought of his secret as part of what finally broke Daenerys, but the truth is, had she been so determined to see the rightful ruler on the throne, she wouldn’t have responded the way she did. She would have supported him instead, but it was never about the rightful ruler on the Iron Throne. Jon knew when he heard the word Winterfell in Daenerys’ speech from the ashes of King’s Landing, that she wouldn’t stop until the world was covered in gray flakes and smoke, and in that way Sansa had been right all along.  
  
When Arya finally showed up in his cell one day, wearing some Unsullied’s face, he was surprised and upset, but her fierceness never did stop surprising him. She hugged him hard and whispered, “Brother, I hope you’re okay, Sansa and I have been worried sick.”  
  
He had merely nodded at her, feeling like a shell of his former self.  
  
“Listen closely, because I have little time, I’m just supposed to be feeding you, and making sure you’re not dead. Sansa is going mad not being able to see you, she wants to apologize, but I’ll leave that to when she gets to see you at some point. She wants to make you king, otherwise she says the North will be it’s own Kingdom again. She wants to tell them all who you really are, but she doesn’t want to tell others without asking your permission. She’s trying to get you out of here. We both are, I swear I won’t let them hurt you.” Arya had whispered quickly, leaning up to his ear.  
  
“How many times and to how many people do I have to say it? I don’t want it. I wasn’t lying about that, tell her I just want to go to the North, Winterfell North, the wall or beyond the wall North, I don’t care. I just want to go home, and rule absolutely no one. Tell her I’m sorry that I’ve proved such a bad leader, I’m sorry for everything. Please, make sure she understands that I don’t blame her.” Jon had whispered back fiercely, his frustration had been so high, how did no one understand what he wanted.  
  
Arya had nodded, and looked him directly in the eyes with some shrewd calculation in her eyes, and said slowly, “You’re not a bad leader, Jon, and I’ll leave the apologies to you when you get to see her.”  
  
“No, tell her, Arya, I need her to know. Please.” Jon had begged her as quietly as he could.  
  
Something had shifted in her eyes, and she asked quietly before she slipped out of the door, “Since when did you care so much about what Sansa thinks?”  
  
She had left him open-mouthed, and mentally avoiding thinking about that very question for weeks. It was a good question, he grew up barely even noticing Sansa was there, just a pretty, quiet little girl that he hardly ever spoke to and then here she was, confounding everything in his life the last few years. She inconveniently popped into his mind constantly, throwing him wildly off balance and making him feel not himself. This strong woman he had no right to occupy his mind with, found herself at the front of it regularly. It felt weird to dwell on her for very long, so he didn’t let himself think through it, didn’t let himself come to any sort of conclusion, didn’t even let himself look at her for too long.  
  
Today though, as Sansa strode into the room for her coronation he couldn’t help but look at her. Her beauty and presence were so overwhelming that everyone in the room stared at her, so at least he wasn’t alone in that. Since he was leaving tomorrow for beyond the wall, for once he didn’t tear his eyes away, but instead allowed himself really look at her. She was astonishingly beautiful, even with the reserved mask she always seemed to wear in public these days. She looked powerful, confident and self-assured. She looked like she belonged on that throne. He found himself transfixed, as around him, the Northerners crowned her and shouted “Queen in the North!” and it was hard to breathe all of a sudden. He was at once incredibly proud of who she had become, and in awe of how astonishing she looked, and how confidently she sat in front of these lords. He felt like he was soaking up the sun, desperately trying to preserve its warmth for the length of time he would go without seeing it.  
  
He didn’t tear his eyes away, even when he felt a confusing mix of emotions tangle in his chest, but watched her as she scanned the room. Suddenly, her eyes fell on his, and it was like a jolt to his system, breaking him out of his trance. She smiled broadly at him, and the lords cheered louder for her, their beautiful queen. He found that he could not really breathe, as he returned her smile and gave her a nod. When she looked away, at the first of many lords who wished to toast her, he gasped several short breaths and left quickly out the back door.  
  
Only when he was outside did he finally feel like he could breathe normally. His heart pounded quickly in his chest, and he finally let himself dwell for a minute on what he felt, before shutting it down and locking it away. Especially after all that had happened, it wasn’t honorable for him to think this way. So, he shoved his feelings down, and sought out someone to spar with him until he was physically exhausted, and then he planned to drink until he had no choice but to sleep.  
  
Unfortunately, this grand plan was interrupted while he was only a little drunk, when a man whose name he couldn’t quite remember told him that the Queen demanded his presence. He felt a mild sort of panic rise in his chest, and chugged the rest of his ale before following this man to Sansa.  
  
She was seated in her solar, still dressed in her coronation dress and wearing her crown, she looked tired, but so, so beautiful. She assessed him with narrowed eyes as he entered the room, feeling drunker than he remembered five minutes ago. Perhaps chugging the ale was not his brightest idea.  
  
“Are you drunk?” She asked incredulously.  
  
“Not entirely sure, Your Grace.” He shrugged at her, not meeting her eyes, and then amended. “Maybe a little.”  
  
“Don’t you dare call me that. You didn’t stick around for my coronation feast, but instead left so that you could go get drunk somewhere else?” She asked, sounding angry.  
  
“I thought you didn’t want me there.”  
  
“No, I did want you there, you were the one who insisted you shouldn’t come at all, that the lords wouldn’t be happy to see you. Then you show up for two seconds, get my hopes up that you would stay, and then storm out and get drunk somewhere else? I wanted you there, so I didn’t have to be all alone! I guess I should get used to it, because I’ll be all alone, again very soon!” She shouted at him, standing up to get closer.  
  
“I don’t know what to say, Your Grace.” Jon mumbled into the floor.  
  
“Don’t you dare call me that, Jon.” She got up in his face, tears threatening to overflow. “You’re the only family I have left in this half of the world! You can’t be a stranger now.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Sansa, I am. But you know I have to go North. I can’t --” he trailed off, not knowing what to say. He looked up at her, and her pretty eyes were full of tears she was fighting to not let flow. He couldn’t help himself from reaching over and placing a hand on her cheek. His pulse pounded in his neck, and he felt himself flush. He very decidedly did not look down at her lips, but kept his eyes on hers.  
  
Confusion and some other emotion flitted through her eyes and he pulled his hand away quickly. Gods, he was drunker than he had thought.  
  
“Jon, please, please stay and help me rule. The Unsullied are gone!! You can stay in Winterfell, no one would mind.”  
  
“You know people would. The same people that were unhappy about Daenerys dying, and the North splitting off. How long do you think it would be until you had ironborn on your shores?” He said sadly. “I wish things could be different, I wish--” but again he trailed off, swallowed his thoughts, unable to find the courage to finish that sentence. Not that he knew what he really wanted anyways. He looked down at his feet.  
  
“We could take the ironborn,” she said hopefully, but then she smiled a little at herself and then the mask she nearly always wore in public slid back into place, her smile falling from her lips and she looked resigned. “Very well, you’ll go roam north of the wall with your wildlings, and I’ll be here.”  
  
“Maybe in a little while, when this all blows over, I can come back. I don’t know.” He said, and he felt a desire to try and bring the real Sansa back, to unmask her again, even if it meant she was yelling.  
  
She moved her lips upwards in what imitated a smile, and said, “I guess we shall find out. Good night, Jon.”

  


The next morning dawned cold and late. Winter was still very much in swing. Jon woke up with a headache, but one that he felt he very much deserved. He dressed, rinsed his face and then gathered his belongings and his horse. He was in the courtyard with some of the members of the Night’s Watch who were to be his escort to the Wall, arranging his belongings on his horse, and was just about to mount up when he heard a commotion behind him. He turned around just in time to see Sansa collide into him with a hug. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, her whole body flush against his.  
  
Sansa didn’t say much at all, just hugged him like she might never see him again. As she went to pull away, he stood on his toes and gave her a kiss on her forehead. The warmth of her skin against was a memory that he never wanted to lose.  
  
“Good bye, Sansa.” He said, his voice low and strained with sleep, drink and sadness.  
  
She didn’t respond, didn’t look like she trusted herself to, just nodded at him and stepped back away. Despite the courtyard being fairly empty this morning after the large feast last night, she slipped back into being the cold, untouchable Queen of the North.  
  
Jon mounted up and rode slowly away. His last view of Winterfell was Sansa, looking gorgeous, standing still and alone in the courtyard, with the morning sun brilliantly lighting up her loose, curly hair. He tried to memorize the scene, tried to memorize her face, her dress, her hair like a desperate man gasping for air, and all too soon, his horse carried him onto the road around the corner, and he could no longer see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed as usual, all mistakes are mine. These two have really taken a hold of my brain, as has the show since Sunday. Hope you all are enjoying this so far. More to come next week. <3


	3. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa and Jon write letters to each other, and Jon tells Tormund too much.

Sansa missed Jon immediately when he left, but had no choice but to see to the daily tasks of ruling an entire kingdom. Fortunately, she had exposure to lots of examples of what to do and what not to do, from the multiple different rulers she had witnessed. Unfortunately, most of those examples were what not do, but they were still guidance enough. Her first task that she set out to do was assemble a council of advisors, full of as many smart people as she could find. Tyrion had taught her that much at least. She longed for a second to have him on her small council, but she knew he was happier in the south. She did however, take a moment to write a carefully thought out letter to Brienne. She missed the woman and would love for her to be the captain of her Queensguard. Bran might not be happy about it, but that she could deal with. He probably already knew she was going to send the letter anyways.

 

After sending her letter to Brienne, she set out to write another one. She didn’t even know if the ravens could find Jon north of the wall, but she’d have them try regardless. Sansa felt rather empty and alone in Winterfell, and even the thought of writing to Jon comforted her. Through all of the things that she went through the next few days, she imagined what she would write to Jon, how she would tell him of all the things that were happening in Winterfell, and how to make her life seem at least a little bit exciting. As she sat through exhausting meetings, and dealt with multiple marriage propositions that had already found their way to her, what helped carry her through was imaging telling Jon about it all. It gave the world a kind of far off quality, with her head so preoccupied with the thought of writing to Jon. At least it gave her a nice distraction from the everyday drudgery. This proved especially useful when her temporary small council decided to bring up the prospect of marriage. It took all of her willpower not scream and insist that she would never marry someone against her will ever again. Instead she said it as diplomatically as possible, and immediately ended the council meeting thereafter, hoping they would get her point. 

 

Before she could finish writing her letter, she received word from the Wall that Jon had arrived safely there. It was simple letter, and made her feel foolish for her half-finished excessively long letter detailing every detail of her days. It read as follows:

 

Sansa,

Made it to the Wall without incident. Tormund, Ghost and all that remains of the Wildlings were here still. We will travel north together, to find a new home for them, and for me for a while at least, I suppose. Hope you are well. I miss you.

Jon

 

At least, Sansa supposed, he told her he missed her, that’s a small amount of sentimentality she didn’t expect from him. It’s a nice gesture at least, considering she may not hear from him again for a very long time, or even see him ever again. She wondered briefly if he would marry a wildling, and then shoved that thought aside before it could really take root. 

 

That evening she finished her letter to him, after rewriting it three times and trying only to keep the most interesting details. She hoped it had a happy tone, as she didn't want Jon to worry about her. It read:

Dear Jon,

I hope this letter reaches you, I’m not sure if the ravens can find you, but maybe Bran can lend a hand if he isn’t too busy, or perhaps you have a warg of your own, I don’t know. I’m pleased that you made it safely to the Wall, but less pleased that you insist on going beyond it. I know we fought about this several times while you were here, but I still wish you hadn’t left. 

I hope the wildlings are treating you kindly, I know how much you care for them, and them for you. Do you think they’ll make you the King beyond the Wall? Would you even take it? For all your insistence on not wanting to rule, I know that you are a naturally great leader. Sometimes I think it should be you here instead of me as the King of the North. Anyways, I hope you are happy up there. 

Things here have been going much as I expected. I have asked Brienne to return and lead my Queensguard, something I’m sure Bran will not be very pleased about. However, as she was sworn to protect me, I feel it’s only fair to have at least one person here I can fully trust, since you have left. I’m sorry it’s not fair of me to blame you, but I’m feeling very selfish today I suppose. I’ve assembled a small council, the appointed people are only temporary, and they very well may lose their place on it sooner rather than later if they keep bringing up marriage to me. I refuse to marry against my will ever again. Like I told you before we took back Winterfell, I would rather die than to be owned by anyone else ever again. It’s difficult because I know that every Lord wishes he or his son to marry me, because I’m the Queen now. How can I possibly know that any man is interested in me for me? I really don’t think I can unless I knew them before, and the list of men I knew before is now very short indeed. Perhaps Tyrion would have me again. Ah a joke, see at least I am happy enough to do that. I suspect I shall have to appoint an heir, since it seems unlikely I’ll ever marry. Would you be upset if that heir was you? I can think of no one else better. 

Sorry, I meant to write of happy things, but I’m very absorbed in the business of running the North. As you know, every lord has a great many opinions and grievances I’m constantly hearing about, but that what’s I signed up for, I suppose. 

I miss you and wish you were here. Will you come down for my nameday later this year? I’ll probably throw a feast, as is customary, and it’ll give me something positive to look forward to. I hope you’re staying warm up there, and that you find a nice area to settle in, hopefully not too far north of the Wall.

Sansa

 

After reading it over again, she supposed she failed her mission to make it a positive letter but she sent it anyways. She hoped that he receives it. A few weeks later, she received a letter back, from Jon.

 

Sansa,

I have no idea how, but the raven made it. Maybe send this exact one again if you can, he or she seems rather smart. I never did learn how to tell the sex of ravens apart. I’m sure Sam would know, wherever he is now, or maybe you would know, I seem to remember you being better at your studies than I. We’ve returned to some previously established camps relatively close to the wall. They did indeed entertain the idea of me being King beyond the Wall, but I refused. I instead suggested they set up a council with the leaders of each of their groups. I got the idea from southern small councils, basically a small council but without the King or Queen. I told them I’d lend advice if needed, but I have no interest in rule. 

On that subject, if you insist on naming me as your heir, I won’t refuse. However, I worry about it being problematic, what with me being a Targaryen and all. I know it’s not public knowledge, but I have the feeling it will be one day. It feels like a secret I always have to carry around, one that’s constantly weighing me down. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, if I had grown up as Aegon Targaryen, and Robert had not killed me or my father. I would have grown up a prince, and your cousin. I wonder who I would have been betrothed to, sometimes I even wonder if it would have been you. I’m sorry if that is weird for you, but I think it would definitely have been possible. Sorry, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on the journey here, and it’s weird how things turned out, but maybe for the better. 

Speaking of weddings, I think it’s absolutely in your right to refuse to marry anyone, but if I know the northern lords like I think I do, they won’t give up on the subject, ever. Is there anyone you knew from before who was remotely kind to you? I hate the idea of you having to marry someone again, unless you love them, but maybe you’ll find that one day. If not, I’ll come down there and kill as many men as I need to, to defend you. It would also make me feel better if Brienne was by your side, you need her far more than Bran does.

On a similar note, Tormund keeps shoving girls at me, and no matter how many times I refuse, he doesn’t seem to give up. I think he’s thrown every red-headed girl there is in the whole North at me. He even asked me if I liked men the other day, to which I obviously said no. He then asked me if I’d ever tried it with a man, to which I said no. He informed I wouldn’t know unless I tried, and that sometimes a man could be just what you’d want. I wouldn’t be surprised if a naked man shows up in my tent one night. The wildlings are strange sometimes, I feel like I belong here often, and then something that like reminds me how far away from home I am. I hope you don’t mind the crassness of my letter, I don’t have anyone else who’d appreciate the story. I don’t understand why people don’t understand why someone might possibly want to be alone. 

Lastly, I absolutely will be there for your nameday celebration. If Tormund hears than Brienne is there, I’m sure he’ll insist on going as well. Do give her a heads up. I miss you greatly, and I’m glad to hear about things down there. 

Jon

 

After reading his letter, she immediately got some parchment and a quill and started writing back to him, and thus they exchanged letters continuously for the next few months. It was much easier to talk to him in written format than it had been in person, Sansa wasn’t quite sure why that was. 

 

Jon,

I’m so pleased to hear from you, and glad the letter was able to reach you. You can tell Tormund that Brienne will be here, as she accepted her position as the Captain of my Queensguard. I’m very pleased that she’s agreed and I already feel much less lonely now that she is on her way and that you’ve agreed to come down for my nameday celebration! 

I can’t believe Tormund is trying to set you up with every single wildling that exists apparently. I had no idea you had a preference for redheads as Daenerys had white hair. I understand of course if you don’t want to talk about her, but maybe over paper is easier to. I’ve been finally coming to peace with a lot of what happened, and trying to move forward past it helps I guess. Also, men with other men does not offend me. One of my betrothed in King’s Landing was Ser Loras Tyrell, for a short time. Rumor has it, he laid with many men, but he was always extremely kind to me, and I liked him a great deal. It’s funny how once upon a time, imagining being married to man who prefers men would have been upsetting to me, but now I would greatly prefer Loras to any one of these Northern lords and their sons who constantly find reasons to speak with me. 

I too sometimes think about how things would have been, had you been raised as Aegon Targaryen. I do think it's possible we would been married to each other. I suppose it's not worth dwelling on the possible pasts, that seems like something more up Bran's alley. I'm sorry you have to carry the secret around, I'm sure if you'd rather everyone know there are ways to spread that information, but as I promised you before it'll never come from me unbidden again.

I guess I’ve not really told you the whole story with what happened to me since we left Winterfell. If you’d hear it, I wouldn’t mind telling you parts of it at a time. I think it’d help me move past everything. Arya knows a lot of it, but then not even all of it. I guess whatever you would like to know you may ask me. I’d prefer to not speak too much of Ramsay, though maybe one day I should, I’m just not sure that day is today. Maybe, these topics are better left to discussion in person though, in case these letters ever got intercepted, I’m not sure what others would think of me. 

I appreciate your kind offer to come slay any man I deem necessary. I’ll admit one extremely persistent Karstark has been highly recommended to me by my small council. Everyday I have to hear about him in some fashion, even though I’ve made my opinion on the matter known rather clearly. Part of me thinks it may just be better to do my duty to the North and marry the man, and at least the Karstarks were related to us once. He even seems rather polite, I’m not sure if you know him, Arthor Karstark. The thought of it makes bile rise in my throat, but I know better than most what can happen when leaders don’t have the lords and ladies on their side. I’m worried if I don’t marry than they’ll kill me just to have you on the throne. Speaking of which, I made that announcement that until I marry and produce an heir (if is more like it really), that you will be my heir. The lords seemed pretty split on that, the ones that like me the most, don’t seem to care for you, and the reverse is true. If I am murdered, promise you’ll avenge me somehow. Though I’m sure Brienne would beat you to the punch. She should arrive within a couple of weeks, maybe once she arrives I won’t feel so pressured to marry. Though I know how stubborn the North men are. 

I’ve started arrangements for my nameday celebration, I intend to make it the event of the year, and hope that it will be a distraction enough away from my unmarried self. Otherwise, business in the North is going well, I’ve set up trade with the south for the things we need. Likewise, if you all need anything in the very North as I’ve started calling it, I could arrange some trade routes if you intend to stay in the same place for very long.

I cannot wait to see you in a few months for my nameday! I hope that everything is well up there in the very North. I miss you and care for you greatly.

Sansa

 

Every letter Jon got from Sansa he eagerly tore into, and the feelings he had come to accept toward her never seemed to wane. He felt like an idiotic teenager in love, but only a kind of love that was inappropriate, unreciprocated and impossible. It was incredibly frustrating, especially with Tormund thrusting every single wildling woman at him, increasingly undressed, and even a couple of men. 

 

Speaking of the man, as Jon was reading his letter from Sansa late one evening after having quite a bit to drink, Tormund strode over to him, looking both extremely drunk and particularly proud of himself. Jon looked up from reading the start of the letter to the tall man.

 

“Snow, I think I’ve figured it out. You say you like redheads, but reject all the women I ever bring to you. I think you’re in love with someone.” Jon felt his face flush as Tormund said this, and opened his mouth to protest, when Tormund finished with, “and I think it’s me.”

 

Jon laughed in spite of himself, leaving Tormund frowning and looking rather offended. “Tormund, I love you like a brother, but I’m not in love with you. I do like women, I promise.”

 

“See you say that Jon Snow, but you’ve never tried a man, I think if you gave it a fair chance, you might realize that you do in fact--” Jon decided to cut him off by kissing him squarely on the mouth, grabbing his beard to pull him down to his level. Tormund’s eyes widened in shock as Jon pulled away.

 

“There, I tried it, I still like women, alright?” Jon said gruffly.

 

Tormund burst into laughter, “Oh I like you Jon Snow, and I don’t often like men. Let me know if you ever change your pretty little mind. What have you got there?” He pointed to the letter he’d only just noticed Jon was holding.

 

“A letter from Sansa. You’ll be happy, Brienne will be in her service again soon, and I’m to visit Sansa for her nameday celebration. Would you like to come?” He asked Tormund as he took a large swig of his fermented goat milk.

 

“Oh the big lady will be there? Of course I’ll come with you. Is that what’s got you so happy? Seeing Sansa again. I heard you southerners liked to fuck your sisters, but I didn’t think you did.” Tormund’s gaze was way too sharp for Jon’s liking as he swallowed roughly against the lump in his throat.

 

“She’s not my sister.” He answered honestly, avoiding the rest of the question.

 

Tormund’s eyes lit up, “It is her then, eh? And half-sister isn’t much different.”

 

Jon sighed, “I’m actually her cousin. I found out my real mother was her father’s sister. This is kind of a big deal to us southerners, so I’d appreciate you not telling anyone.”

 

“Okay, Jon Snow, I won’t tell anyone you want to fuck your cousin.” Tormund looked absolutely delighted at having found this out, and Jon felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest, now this wasn’t just his secret. Damn this goat’s milk for making him honest.

 

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?” He sighed into his cup.

 

“Probably not, no.” Tormund responded, and with that he walked away, leaving Jon to read the rest of Sansa's letter and wonder how badly he’d fucked up by admitting his truth to Tormund.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this is unbetaed and all mistakes are mine. Thanks for the kind comments and kudos so far, hope you all enjoy! I'm thinking this is going to have a few more chapters before it's done. XO

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine. I haven't written anything in a while, but I'm fascinated to think about what comes next for Sansa, our Queen, and Jon. I'd like some of it to be happy at least. More to come soon, xo.


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